


Then love-devouring Death do what he dare

by Kaleidoscope_Carousel



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoscope_Carousel/pseuds/Kaleidoscope_Carousel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pit gives, but it also takes. And who goes in is not necessarily what comes out.<br/>Originally begun as a prompt from tumblr, but has grown exponentially since. Note: the first two chapters are Resurrection and Resurrection II which I have moved from You Keep Giving Me These Ideas to its own work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resurrection

The candles flickered softly in the gloom of Ra’s al Ghul’s inner chambers, and Sara shivered, despite the suffocating warmth and humidity that cloaked the room. 

She stood amidst the gathered members of the League’s upper echelon; only those who were most trusted by Ra’s, or Nyssa, ever had permission to venture this deep inside the mountain. Her Beloved led the procession, a small bundle wrapped in white cloth lying prone in her arms. 

The High Priestess of Nanda Parbat stepped out from the shadows then, and called order to the gathered members of the League. “Let the ritual commence!”

Sara followed Nyssa, as she approached the carved stone steps leading up to the pool of bubbling water. In front of the pool lay a wooden platform on the stone altar, which hung from four ropes and pulleys anchored into the cavern roof. Sara had to repress another shiver as she came nearer to the black, bubbling water. There was something so unnerving about its inky depths. The High Priestess stepped forward and took the bundle from Nyssa’s arms. Nyssa, Sara, and the two men then each grabbed one of the ropes joined to the wooden platform, and held it steady while the Priestess laid the bundle onto the wooden slats. Slowly, she pulled the cloth away, revealing the face of a child, no more than ten years old, pale and cold in death. 

Sara drew a sharp breath in through her nose, although she did not allow any expression to cross her face. She knew the boy, at least by sight if not personally. Few members of the League had children, and even fewer were allowed to keep the members of their family in Nanda Parbat, but Al Owal was Ra’s al Ghul’s right hand man, and his son, Ghalib, was a familiar sight in the hallways and temples of the League.

But now Ghalib lay lifeless in front of her, his laughing brown eyes closed forever, his skin waxy and unnatural in the flickering light of the candles. 

Taking her cue from Nyssa, Sara grasped at her end of the rope, and pulled, the combined force of the four of them lifting the body of the boy up and over the pit as the Priestess chanted: “In this day of resurrection, come forth and rise. Rise, and come to prayer.”

The gathered assassins took up the chant, in an eerie call and response that echoed in Sara’s ears. She concentrated instead on the rough feel of the rope in her hands, the slight breeze that came from somewhere in the depths of the cavern, the solid rock beneath her feet, anything but the chanting that seemed to build and build, as the boy was lowered into the water, and submerged completely.

The High Priestess held up her hand, and the chanting ceased. For a moment all was quiet in the chamber, even the waters of the pit had stopped roiling. Sara held her breath.

Then, without warning, the ropes flew through her grasp, leaving rough, red marks against Sara’s palms. The calm waters rose, and Ghalib burst from the pit with an unearthly scream.

The water rolled down his face in rivulets, running into his eyes which were wild and shining with a berserker light. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and he launched himself on the closest member of the League, clawing and tearing at the man who had fallen to the floor in the face of the attack. Two more members of the League quickly ran to help their fallen brother, grabbing Ghalib’s arms as he twisted and screeched. The man rose unsteadily to his feet, bleeding from the scratches Ghalib’s nails had left in his face. 

The Priestess advanced on the boy who was now cursing in Arabic, spewing words Sara had never heard him use before. She pressed something to his neck, and Ghalib collapsed, unconscious. The Priestess stepped over his prone body and nodded at the two men who held his limp form between then. They nodded in return, and proceeded to carry the boy out of the chamber, and into the dark passageways of Nanda Parbat.

Sara felt her breath return in short gasps, and wondered when it was that air had stopped working its way into her lungs. She looked over at Nyssa, but Nyssa was looking blankly at her father for instruction, and didn’t catch Sara’s eye. 

With a wave, Ra’s dismissed the rest of the gathered assassins, pausing for a moment to place a hand on his daughter’s head as she knelt and bowed to him on her way out of his chambers. He did the same to Sara, but the touch was slight, almost dismissive. Sara hurried out of the room as fast as she could, almost running to catch up with Nyssa as she strode down the hallway to their shared apartments.

They didn’t talk as they prepared for bed, Sara didn’t know what to say, and Nyssa didn’t seem in the mood for talking, either. She was pensive, almost brooding, but she still curled protectively around Sara, as they both lay in bed, and still whispered the same sweet goodnight that she did every other night they had spent in this bed together. 

Sara couldn’t sleep, though. She lay staring blankly at the opposite wall, willing her body to relax after what she had just witnessed, but her mind kept playing back the moments after Ghalib’s resurrection over and over again. She could not get the blank stare, and wild snarl on the boy’s face out of her mind.

She felt Nyssa shift beside her, and felt, more than heard the voice in her ear.

“What is wrong, Beloved? Can you not sleep?”

Sara shook her head.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Nyssa asked. Any other day, Sara would have had plenty of suggestions, but her skin still crawled from the events of the evening.

“Promise me, Nyssa, promise me one thing,” she said.

“Anything, _habibti_ ,” Nyssa replied, “whatever it is, Beloved, it is yours.”

“Promise me that whatever happens, no matter what, you will never put me in that pit. Not ever.” Sara felt Nyssa’s body stiffen behind her, and she rolled over to face her in the dark. “Promise me, Nyssa,” she repeated, reaching out to cup Nyssa’s cheek, and stroke her thumb over the planes of her face.

Nyssa tried to look away, but Sara’s hand drew her back. “Swear it to me,” Sara said, “swear it on our love. I saw what happened tonight. Whatever that was that came out of those waters, that wasn’t Ghalib. I don’t want that to be me. Tell me you won’t do it, Nyssa.”

Nyssa closed her eyes, brow furrowing. It was as close to a look of pain that Sara had ever seen her wear, but Nyssa nodded. “I swear it, _habibti_. I will never put you in the pit.” A wave of relief washed over Sara, so strong she was glad she was lying down so she wouldn’t collapse.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the dark, and reached up to press a gentle kiss to Nyssa’s forehead.

Years later, Nyssa wishes that Sara had never made her swear, had never forced her to make such promises. She stands alone against Malcolm’s army, and the combined weight of the stares of her new protégé and friends.

“Laurel,” she begs, “please do not do this. It is not what she would have wanted.” But Laurel is past reasoning, and she whirls on Nyssa with a glare.

“All this time,” she hisses, “all this time there was a way for us to bring her back. A way for me not to have lost my sister for the third time in my life. And you couldn’t bother to tell me. You, of all people! I thought you loved her!”

“I did, I do. But Laurel, she made me promise. I would have moved Heaven and Earth to save her life, but I would never go back on an oath that I swore on our love. You are making a grave mistake.”

Laurel turns her back to Nyssa, ignoring her pleas. “I have lost so many people in my life. I can’t lose Sara. Not again. Do it,” she says, nodding to Malcolm. “However this voodoo magic pit stuff works, just do it. I have to bring Sara home.”

Nyssa stands rigid with the blade of one of the League pressed to her neck. She forces herself to watch as the waters of the pit bubble and roil but she knows, Sara, her Sara, the real Sara, can never come home again.


	2. Resurrection II

Nyssa’s eyes are burning with exhaustion, but still she sits, back rigid and straight against the cold stone wall of the cell, barely blinking. The Thing that emerged from the pit, hours earlier, has stopped her pacing, but continues to yank at her chains every so often, testing the hold. Nyssa dares not let her guard down, for fear that the unnatural strength the pit grants will allow the Thing to escape.

The Thing that wears her Beloved’s face. 

Nyssa may have been unable to stop Laurel from putting Sara’s body in the waters of the Lazarus Pit, but she will not fail at keeping what emerged contained. Sara would not want the destruction that would follow.

Nyssa takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She has been feeling the traitorous prickling at the corners of her eyes ever since she was forced to watch the creature in front of her rise from the pit and fall upon the members of the League who were present for the resurrection. But she will not allow the tears to fall. She has set herself a task.

The creature growls softly and tugs at her chains again. “The strength of the metal has not altered since last you tested it,” Nyssa says. She doesn’t know if the Thing understands her or not, but she is tired. Tired of sitting here keeping watch, tired of failure, tired of missing her Beloved so much it’s like a physical ache in her chest any time she so much as catches a glimpse of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. 

The creature merely sneers, and tugs harder. The murderous light in those all-too familiar blue eyes sends a chill down Nyssa’s spine. If she didn’t already know, that look would tell her. This is not Sara. This will never be Sara. She allows herself the luxury of closing her own eyes for a moment, and in that second a treacherous tear finds its way free, and slips down her cheek. The creature laughs and Nyssa’s eyes fly open. This is the first sound the Thing has made that hasn’t been a growl or a shriek. Her vocal chords are still adjusting to being able to resonate after a year of being buried under the ground.

“Do I make you sad, little princess?” the Thing asks, voice a gravelly mockery of Sara’s. Nyssa doesn’t answer, just turns her head slightly so as not to gaze directly at the expression on the face of what used to be her Beloved. “It’s not nice to look away when someone is talking to you. What sort of manners did your father teach you?” The creature laughs again as Nyssa focuses her narrowed eyes back to the Thing in chains in front of her.

“Oh yes,” the Thing continues, “I know who you are. Nyssa, daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, Heir to the Demon. The one who pulled me out of the ocean and brought me here.” Nyssa represses a shudder as the creature mimics her voice. “But daddy isn’t here any more, is he? Someone else wears the ring, now, and The Demon chose a new Heir over his own daughter. So like a man. Although I am surprised he selected Merlyn of all people.”

“He did not choose the traitor,” Nyssa says, fists clenched at her sides, “he chose another, who then placed Merlyn in power. Not that that concerns you.”

“I’d say it does concern me, considering he decided to put me in chains and lock me away. Pity. Even my own sister is afraid of me.”

“She sees what you are. You are not Sara. You are not my Taer al Asfer.”

“ _Your_ Taer al Asfer? Is that why you’re sitting here like that? Mooning over me? I’m flattered because frankly, you’re damn hot. Why don’t you come over here and unlock these chains, and we can have a little fun?”

“That, I’m afraid, is not going to happen.” 

“Too bad, I’d have made it worth your while.” The creature adds a wink, and bites her lip in a way that is so Sara that Nyssa digs her nails into her palms to remind herself it’s not. It’s not her. “So when did we get together? I remember some things, but others are just hazy. Apparently that happens when you die. Go figure.”

“I am not discussing this with you. That is between myself and Sara. The real Sara.” Nyssa settles back against the stones and looks away once more. 

The silence stretches for so long, that it starts feeling like a physical thing pressing down against Nyssa’s shoulders. The only thing that breaks it is the occasional clink of metal from the chains around the creature’s wrists as she shifts or stirs. But still Nyssa refuses to look directly at the Thing, or engage it in any way. She has already said too much. 

Her training keeps her from jumping when suddenly the silence is broken. _“Habibti_ , it is me, though. It is Sara.” The voice is so soft and broken, it conjures images in Nyssa’s mind of long evenings spent together in her chambers after Sara first became one of the League. Evenings spent reassuring her that what she was doing wasn’t evil, wasn’t wrong, just one way of many of ridding the world of the dangerous and rotten people that haunted it.

“Sara?” Nyssa whispers, daring to let hope in, just a little. The creature’s posture is bent, now, not rigid and vibrating with barely suppressed violence like it was when she was first imprisoned. She looks so much smaller, that Nyssa can’t help but stand to come close. She reaches out a hand, and caresses her Beloved’s cheek, lifts her face to look into her eyes. The flicker in them warns her just as the creature makes a grab for one of Nyssa’s daggers with her bound hands. Nyssa easily steps out of reach, and the creature lets out a stream of curses in English and Arabic.

“I wish I could believe you,” Nyssa says, and with one swift move, jabs the needle she had been hoping not to have to use into the creature’s neck. The sedative works quickly and although she struggles against it, the Thing that once was Sara succumbs to sleep with a hiss.

Nyssa crosses back to her post against the far wall of the cell. _“Rahmatullahi Alayhi”_ she says softly to the sleeping monster in her Beloved’s place. ”May He have mercy on all of us for what we have done.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nyssa’s eyes open and she looks up as the door to the cell creaks slowly ajar. The creature has seemingly tired herself out and sags against the chains, breathing softly in and out. Not peacefully, but softly, and the groan of wood on stone echoes loudly in the enclosed room. Nyssa blinks as one of Malcolm’s new acolytes enters the cell.

“I have no need for someone to relieve me of my duty, thank you. I will continue to keep watch for tonight.” 

“I have not come to relieve you of your duty. I have come to relieve you of your life.”

Nyssa ducks and rolls just in time, as a scimitar bites into the stone wall where her head had been moments before. She unsheathes her own blade in one smooth motion and brings it up to block another strike at her head. 

“How dare you attack a member of the League within our own walls!” Nyssa says, parrying another blow, and striking back with a low swing at her attacker’s midsection.

“You call yourself a member of this League when you show such disrespect to Ra’s? You should know he would not have you live after your challenge to him today. Traitor!”

Nyssa spins quickly getting behind her attacker, and kicks him in the back, sending him stumbling forward. He recovers and whirls at her, pulling a second blade from a sheath at his side, and advancing, attacking high and low with his blades at the same time.

Nyssa dodges and feints, using the columns in the cell as cover only to duck from behind her shelter and throw one of her daggers at the young man. He chops it out of the air with his blade, eyes gleaming with a zealous light, as he advances on Nyssa.

There’s only so much space to move around in the cell, and Nyssa realises she’s being backed, slowly and surely, towards the creature, who is now wide awake and watching the proceedings with interest. Nyssa’s back feels naked without the usual weight of her bow and quiver, not that a long range weapon would do her much good in this confined space.

She ducks again and throws herself into a butterfly kick, the rapid movements disguising the flick of her wrist as she sends another dagger straight for the assassin steadily advancing on her. He manages to dodge the projectile, leaning away from it, but it gives Nyssa time to sweep her leg in a low kick, knocking his feet out from under him. He falls backward and into a kip up from the floor, launching himself back to his feet with the agility born of League training.

“You are a disgrace to our name, Traitor,” he spits. “You are no longer Heir here, you have no authority, and you do not deserve to live.”

“You serve a false master,” Nyssa fires back, “the Magician is the traitor, and will never be the true Ra’s. He came by the title through manipulation and trickery, and I will take my proper place, no matter how many of his peons her sends against me.” The assassin lets out a shriek, and charges towards Nyssa, but she steps aside, and he is forced to drop his blades and use his momentum to push himself in a front flip away from the wall. He lands in a crouch and gathers the dropped weapons with a low slice at Nyssa’s shins. She dances back and out of his reach, but he pulls a dagger free and sends it flying. She parries, and it drops out of the air, but he is on her by this time, blades whirling as she dodges and parries. Finally she manages to get in under his guard, and her blade briefly finds purchase against his shoulder. 

He drops one of his blades, but his eyes now have a berserker light in them as her advances on her, blood dripping from his wound onto the floor. Nyssa can feel the creature’s gaze on them, she catches the flick of a tongue as the creature licks her lips at the sight of the blood. She does not want to come too close, does not want to let the Thing near any weapons lest she manage to get her hands on one and escape. The creature may not be her Beloved, but she still has all of her Beloved’s many skills. Sara could get out of a trap easily with a single dagger and about five minutes of time.

She tries to spin behind the attacker, but he blocks her, backing her further in towards the creature. She rushes forward, trying to put him off balance with a direct attack, but his blade comes up and slices her across her right forearm. She drops her scimitar with a hiss, and quickly rolls out of range, producing two more daggers from inside her coat as she does so. 

Her attacker smiles boldly. “Such small blades will not serve you much good.”

“You should know that it is the wielder, and not the weapon that matters,” Nyssa replies. She stays in her defensive stance, just out of range. She can feel the stare of the creature on her, just to her left although she does not dare look. Malcolm’s pawn steps forward to attack her again, and the creature lets out a shriek. Startled, the man looks from Nyssa to the creature, and in that moment his doom is sealed. He has stepped within the Thing’s reach, and she takes the chains that bind her hands and wraps them around the man’s neck, pulling them taut as she falls back with the struggling assassin on top of her.

Her grip is too strong and he cannot move as she pulls tighter and tighter at the chains around his neck, laughing the whole time. She waits until just before he stops struggling to release him, and he rolls off her onto hands and knees, gasping for breath, with the red marks of the chains around his neck. The creature doesn’t let him rest for long. She stands and delivers a vicious kick to the man’s chest, and he falls over again onto his back, with several broken ribs, by the sound of the impact. The creature doesn’t hesitate, and she launches herself astride him, delivering blow after blow to the man’s face, head, and neck. She continues punching long after the man has grown still in death, his face an unrecognizable mess. Nyssa grows still, waiting until the bloodlust has faded from the Thing’s eyes, and she has begun breathing normally again. 

“You saved my life,” she says. The creature curls a lip.

“I know,” she says.

“But why?” The creature shrugs.

“I had a chance to take revenge on someone, so I took it. Besides no one is allowed to hurt you but me.” Nyssa sees a glimmer of something like uncertainty in the creature’s eyes, however, a glimmer that almost looks like Sara.

“I don’t know whether I should thank you or not. It seems my destruction may be imminent either way.” The creature rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic, I’m not going to kill you. . .yet,” she adds but Nyssa notices the pause, the uncertainty as the creature shudders, like something unpleasant is passing through her system. She stands, chains dropping away from her wrists and feet as she waggles the dagger now held in her hand at Nyssa. “Now, I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let me live after this, and we already know they’re trying to kill you. So, how about we join forces for the time being? Get out of this hellhole, and then we can go our separate ways?”

“What makes you think I would ever work with you?” Nyssa says.

“Well, I did just save your life, and I could kill you right now, but honestly I don’t really feel like it at the moment. I do want to get out, and you know this place better than anyone. But I think it’s gotta be now or never. Someone’s gonna have heard the racket, and they’re gonna come looking. Are you with me, or not?” And the Thing raises an eyebrow, looking at her for a moment with an expression so absolutely _Sara_ that Nyssa finds herself nodding almost without realising it.

“Let us go.”


	4. Chapter 4

The dungeons of Nanda Parbat are legendary in some circles for being impossible to escape from, but those who whisper of them had not grown up within those walls. Nyssa knows every inch of the League's stronghold like she knows the planes and angles of her Beloved's face, that face that is so painfully familiar despite the current emptiness behind the blue eyes that follow her carefully as she makes each twist and turn through the dimly lit corridors.

“Assassins sure are fond of mood lighting,” the Creature says as the two of them make their way quietly through the passageway in the heart of the League’s stronghold.

“I would recommend you stay quiet unless you wish us to be caught and end up right back in that cell,” Nyssa replies. The Creature shrugs.

“I could do with bashing some skulls in right now, to be honest,” she says. “All this sneaking around is getting boring.” Nyssa makes no response, simply gestures for her to be quiet. The sound is faint, but Nyssa can still hear the whispering of footsteps against the stone floor. The Creature obviously hears them too, because a savage grin spreads across her face, twisting it in a way that Nyssa does not recognise. Before she can say anything, or warn those who are approaching, the Creature attacks.

The first League member to round the corner walks right into the onslaught. He never even has a chance to cry out as the Thing rushes past Nyssa and delivers a savage knifehand strike to the throat. He drops to his knees as his mouth works open and closed, desperate to draw air into a crushed larynx. The second assassin is quick enough to get her guard up before the Creature grabs her arm and uses the momentum to swing herself up and around the assassin’s neck, throwing her to the ground as she twists around the other side. The blows come swift and terrible, one after another until the assassin lies motionless on the ground.

The Creature stands, and turns back to Nyssa, knuckles raw and eyes gleaming from the fight. “You’re welcome,” she says. Nyssa’s frown deepens.

“That was unnecessary,” 

“That's rich, coming from you,” the Creature replies. “ _Your reticence to do what is necessary is why your city burns_ —remember that line?” she says, voice pitched in a mockery of Nyssa's own speech patterns.

“You always were terrible at affecting my accent,” Nyssa says, “I see death and resurrection has not altered that. Now let us go before you manage to bring down the entire League on our heads.”

The Creature shrugs again, but steps back to follow Nyssa as she leans her shoulder against the far wall to open up a narrow, low passageway leading into the heart of the compound.

The tunnel is pitch black, only the faint flicker of the torch the Creature snatched from the wall bracket in the main passageway providing any sort of light. Nyssa has no need of the light it casts; she’s walked this path enough to find her way without the luxury of the flame. And what is there to fear in the dark when you know you are what the monsters have nightmares about? At least, she used to believe she was the most terrifying thing lurking in the darkness. Now, she's not so sure. She can hear the soft breaths of the Thing keeping pace behind her and she has to close her eyes for a moment, just squeeze them shut and remind herself that that sound, so familiar from years spent lying next to Sara listening to the gentle rise and fall of her breath in the dark, should not give her hope.

At last they reach the end of the tunnel, and Nyssa pulls the handle to open the secret door. She blinks rapidly a few times to help her eyes adjust to the light inside the room. Dawn had broken while the two of them were making their way from the dungeons and now sunlight is streaming through the windows of Nyssa's balcony. The secret passage Nyssa had taken them through lead right into her rooms. 

“First order of business,” Nyssa says, “getting some clean clothes.” She walks over to the dresser in the corner and pulls out a pair of jeans and a Starling City Rockets T-shirt and tosses them in the direction of the Creature, who is wandering around curiously. The Creature grabs the clothing out of the air without looking, and does the same with the socks, bra, and underwear that come flying towards her shortly after.

“What's this for?” she asks.

“You are still wearing the same clothing my Beloved died and was buried in. That cannot be comfortable. Besides, I have no desire to be reminded of the fact that Sara was not even given proper burial clothes.”

“You sure are sentimental for an assassin,” the Creature remarked as she began stripping the corset and leather pants off. It seemed the Thing has kept Sara's sense of modesty, or lack thereof. Nyssa ignores the comment and tends to her own needs for a change. The wound from the attack earlier is superficial, but the blood has dried on her clothing, gluing the cloth to her body. She hisses slightly as she peels her right arm out of her sleeve and the blood starts flowing again. There is a pitcher of clean water still sitting on her dresser, and she dampens a cloth, and presses it to her arm. She startles when she feels a hand cover her own and turns to look at the Creature, dressed in Sara’s clothing, pulling the cloth from her grasp.

“What are you doing?” she asks. 

“You’re my ticket to getting out of this place,” the Creature says, “least I can do is make sure you’re well enough to do the job right.” The look on her face, however, tells another story. It twists Nyssa’s heart to see how similar the facial expressions are, and right now the Creature with Sara’s face looks exactly as her Beloved did when something was puzzling or bothering her. Nyssa pulled her arm gently out of the grasp of the Creature. 

“While I appreciate the help, I think I can tend to my own wounds, thank you.” The Creature shrugs.

“Whatever,” she says, and returns to pacing the room while Nyssa finishes cleaning and dressing the injury to her arm. Once satisfied with the dressing of her wound, Nyssa, too, strips out of her ruined clothes and into a second set of her gear. There is no time for modesty, although she does not miss the way the Creature leers at her while slouched in the armchair in the corner of the room. 

“Are you prepared to go?” Nyssa asks.

“Born ready,” the Creature replies and leisurely rises to her feet.

“Then let us leave this place.” 

Nyssa takes a moment to listen at the door for any League members patrolling the halls, and then ushers the Creature out into the corridor before her. Nyssa tilts her head to listen to the distant sounds of training in the yard, and students learning their lessons. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nyssa frowns. Under her father’s rule, Nanda Parbat would have been crawling with searchers by this point. She never thought she would have anything to thank Merlyn for, but if his smug belief in his own superiority obviously means he did not post enough sentries, she’ll have to send her regards. . .and then mount his head on a pike above the gates. She steps out into the hall, the Creature only a few paces in front of her when she hears the voices.

“. . .even if we have to break her out ourselves.” Nyssa freezes. That is English, she knows that voice.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that. As twisted as his obsession with me is, I think I can use it to get him to hand her over to us. It’s the least he can do for his _daughter_.” This last word is spat with such venom, Nyssa would believe it were a curse if it weren’t for her fluent understanding of the English language. 

“I know how hard this is for you Thea, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done to help me out with this.”

“Of course, Laurel, I know what it feels like to lose a sibling. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose Oliver again, so anything I can do for you and Sara, I will.”

“Thank you,” Laurel’s whispered response is earnest and tight with emotion as the two women round the corner and come face to face with Nyssa and the Creature, whose face twists into a mask of hatred.

“ _You! _” she snarls, voice dripping with loathing and Nyssa could swear for a moment those blue eyes glow red as the Creature lunges for Thea, who stands facing them, frozen in shock.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone. I can't guarantee a regular update schedule, but I do want to finish this fic sometime in the next decade. Updates will come!


	5. Chapter 5

At the last second, Thea ducks, weaving out of the Creature’s grasp with the speed of a rabbit in the sights of a hawk. The Creature snarls again and whirls, only to face Nyssa with her blade drawn. “I do not wish to harm the body of my Beloved, but she would never forgive herself if I let you hurt her friend,” Nyssa says. 

“She killed me,” the Creature hisses, “she deserves to die!”

“She did not kill you. You are not Sara,” Nyssa says

“I am Sara enough,” the Creature replies and lunges at Thea under Nyssa’s arm. Nyssa brings the hilt of her scimitar down, but the Creature predicts the move and ducks out of the way, scrambling to regain purchase on the slippery tile floor as Thea twists past Nyssa to stand by Laurel again. Laurel has her tonfa drawn, and Thea’s fists are both clenched around the hilt of the matching short swords she had strapped to her back, while Nyssa reaches out with her free hand to the Creature’s chest. Her touch seems to calm the Thing somewhat, and she stops actively trying to attack Thea, although Nyssa can feel the thrum of tension through the palm of her hand, and she can see the way the Creature is on her toes, ready to pounce.

“I won’t let you hurt her, Sara,” Laurel says, “please don’t do this,”

“Don’t tell me what to do, sister” she snarls, “I haven’t listened to anything you’ve said since I was twelve years old.” Laurel flinches but holds her ground. 

“You’re not yourself, just, just let us help you!” Laurel pleads, but the Creature ignores her, gaze locked on Thea.

Thea stares back, mouth set in a grim line, knuckles white against the hilts of her short swords. Then, eyes still locked on the Creature, Thea slowly sheathes her blades, and draws a small ornamental dagger from her hip. Laurel’s eyes widen.

“Thea, what are you doing?” she asks.

“Just trust me, okay? And whatever happens, whatever I do, let me go through with it. Don’t interrupt and don’t let the Thing near me, got it?”

“Thea, I…” Laurel starts but Thea interrupts.

“Got it?” she repeats. Laurel nods mutely, shifting her grip on her tonfa in slippery palms. 

Nyssa, hand still in the centre of the Creature’s chest, not pressing, just holding her there, feels more than sees the shift in weight as the Creature tries to lunge again. She drops her scimitar to grasp the Thing’s forearms in both of her hands in a wrestling clinch. “Whatever it is that you are planning, Thea Queen, you had best do it swiftly,” she says, not waiting for a response as the Creature tries to wrest herself out of Nyssa’s grasp. Nyssa follows the movements, and slips on hand up to the back of the Creature’s neck to solidify her hold. The Thing manages to twist them around, but cannot escape Nyssa’s grasp, despite her Pit-given strength. There seems to be something about Nyssa’s touch that weakens her, or her resolve at any rate. Nyssa can see through the break in their bodies, Laurel looking horrified as Thea sits down in the middle of the hall and draws the blade of the dagger across the back of her hand. Laurel opens her mouth to speak, but at Thea’s look closes it again, and she moves forward to defend Thea who now has her eyes closed, blood from her hand dripping onto the floor.

The smell of spilt blood seems to reawaken the Creature’s rage and she screams and struggles harder against Nyssa’s grip. Nyssa can feel the strain in her muscles, and the sweat dripping down the back of her neck from holding them both where they stand.

“Laurel,” she says, panting, “remember the alleyway? The tagging team?” Laurel looks confused for a moment, and then her eyes light up with understanding. Nyssa signals to Laurel with a flick of her eyes the direction she intends to move then suddenly drops to one knee between the Creature's legs, her other foot on the outside. Her grip shifts down to the back of the Creature's calves and with a burst of movement stands, lifting the Creature by both legs, slamming her to the ground. Laurel is on her in an instant, pressing her tonfa down on the Creature's throat, hands on both ends of the baton to hold it in place, Nyssa using her body weight to pin the Creature's shoulders and hips. The Creature writhes and struggles, bringing her legs up to wrap around Nyssa's waist and try to roll her over, but with the combined weight of Laurel and Nyssa holding her down, she can't get enough momentum to push them both off.

Thea is whispering words under her breath, syllables that Nyssa almost recognizes but not quite. Still whispering, she takes her right hand and drags it through the fresh blood shining on the tile of the corridor, drawing a strange sigil in front of her. The curling, twisting design seems to shift and change in front of Nyssa’s eyes.

Thea begins to chant louder and reaches up with her dagger to cut a lock of her hair, which she places in the center of the design. Nyssa recognizes the words Thea is reciting now, it's an old dialect, but understandable. 

_For the blood I have spilt, now do I spill mine._  
For the life I have taken so now I give mine.   
For the wrongs I have done, now I offer to right.  
With blood and body and words  
I anchor my soul and pledge my life to hers. 

A chill runs down Nyssa’s spine, and if it were not for the Creature’s legs wrapped around her waist like iron bars, she would run to Thea and stop whatever is happening. She looks at Laurel and can see the same thoughts reflected in her eyes.

“We can’t, I promised, and if either of us move, Sa-- this Thing is going to go for Thea again,” Laurel says. Nyssa bites the inside of her cheek, but nods. The Creature, hearing Thea’s words redoubles her efforts of throwing Laurel and Nyssa off. She scratches and tears at Nyssa’s arms, but the leather of Nyssa’s armour protects her. 

“No!” the Creature shrieks, “I will not be denied this!” 

Nyssa can see the sweat standing out on Thea’s forehead as she concentrates on what Nyssa now recognises to be an incantation. Where had Thea learned this?

_“Blood for blood and a life for a life. To atone for my sins I freely give what must be taken.”_

As the last words leave her lips, a brilliant white flame springs to life from the lock of Thea’s hair in the middle of the rune. The smoke billows up, much more than should be possible from such little fuel. The scent is acrid in Nyssa’s nostrils, and it is all she can do to hold on to the twisting, shouting Creature below her. Suddenly Thea cries out in pain. It is enough for both Nyssa and Laurel to weaken their grip, enough for the Creature to claw her way free and leap towards Thea, only to stop short a few steps away from where the young woman lies prone on the ground. Nyssa and Laurel rush towards her to pull her away from Thea, but the Creature does not try and touch the other woman. Instead, she reaches down to pick something up from the centre of the rune. Nyssa hears her hiss and sees her flinch, then flex her right hand, staring down at her palm. Laurel walks by the two of them to kneel at Thea’s side, gently shaking her. Thea groans and stirs, finally sitting up, looking dazed. 

“Did it work?” she asks. 

“Did what work?” Laurel asks in reply, but before Thea can say anything, the Creature interjects.

“Yes it worked. I accept your gift, Thea Queen, not that you gave me much choice. Blood for blood, a life for a life. Your loyalty to me. Forever.”

“What?” Laurel exclaims, “Thea, what did you do?” Thea shakes off Laurel’s concerned hold on her shoulders.

“What I had to do. It. . it was a spell. Malcolm taught me. He said it was a last resort, in case I had no other choice. The Pit, it makes you crazy, it’s a type of bloodlust, and the only way to cure it is to kill the one who hurt or killed you. Eye for an eye type shit. Except, apparently Malcolm found a way around it in one of the ancient books of the League. If the one who caused the harm willingly offers their life to the other, in loyalty or whatever, then the one they harmed stops trying to kill them, because they have given up their life. It’s a metaphor or something.”

“Except apparently it’s not, look!” Laurel points to the palm of the Creature who is still turning her hand back and forth mesmerized by the mark that has appeared. It is the same curling, twisting lines that Thea had drawn on the floor in her blood, the same that winds across Thea’s hand, too.

“I do not believe anyone has ever willingly offered their life to one of the Pit Raised, but I am afraid we cannot stand around and discuss the risks and merits of pledging your life to the Creature that currently inhabits my Beloved’s body. Despite his smug sense of superiority, Merlyn must surely be aware of our escape by now. And if not, the noise would certainly have alerted someone that all is not well. We must go, and quickly,” Nyssa says.

Laurel helps Thea to her feet and even the Creature is docile, as Nyssa leads them all to a door hidden behind a thick tapestry. “This leads down to the kitchens,” she says, “we can gather some supplies before we leave, although I am afraid that whatever you brought with you must be left. For now. When I am once again in my rightful place, I will return your belongings to you.”

“It’s just stuff, Nyssa,” Thea says, “let’s just get out of here with our lives and then we can figure it all out later.”

“Of course,” Nyssa says, and leads them all into the passageway, locking the door behind her with a deadbolt from the inside. 

They have no need for a torch this time. Laurel and Thea both light the way with their cellphones, and Nyssa briefly regrets the lack of electricity in Nanda Parbat. It does not take them long to reach their destination. As Nyssa had hoped, the kitchens are deserted at this hour, breakfast being done, and midday meal too far ahead to be in preparation yet. She puts Thea in charge of finding some sort of bag to carry supplies, and Laurel on Creature-watching duty. She busies herself in gathering food supplies: dried meats and fruit, a few loaves of bread, and large gourds of water. Once satisfied, she and Thea start loading up the empty grain sacks Thea found. Nyssa only pauses when her hand touches the familiar powdery surface of Sara’s favourite date cookies, the ones she and Sara used to sneak when they came back late from missions, adrenaline pumping from having survived another day. She looks up to see the eyes of the Creature watching her. The Creature shrugs.

“What? We gotta keep our blood sugar up, don’t we?” Nyssa squeezes her eyes shut to push down the memories. She sighs, but packs the cookies anyway.

“Come,” Nyssa says, “any moment we stay longer is a moment closer to being discovered. It is time for us to leave this place.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Laurel says, “let’s get the hell out of here.” Thea nods.

“Then follow me,” Nyssa says, and leads them towards the door.


End file.
